


done my time and served my sentence (dress me up and watch me die)

by bilexualclarke (ohalaskayoung)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, also some smut, basically a rewrite of season 1, except finn dies instead of wells, just so you know, there are hints of sexual abuse at the beginning, which is always nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohalaskayoung/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am become death,” Clarke murmurs, “destroyer of worlds.” She glances over her shoulder at Bellamy, as if realizing she wasn’t by herself. “It’s Oppenheimer. The man who created the first-”</p><p>“I know who Oppenheimer is,” he grunts. He knocks her elbow with his, and she leans back against his side. </p><p>“Do you think we have a chance at surviving this thing?” Clarke asks as everyone files inside the dropship behind them. </p><p>“Probably not,” Bellamy says, his eyes on the smoke. “But they didn’t think we had a chance at surviving down here either.”</p><p>My rewrite of Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	done my time and served my sentence (dress me up and watch me die)

Screams have unfortunately become a commonplace sound on the ground. Jasper’s moans have been constant since they brought him back to camp, but the screams that Clarke hears now are different. These aren’t screams of pain; they are screams of fear.

 

“No, stop! Please, no!”

 

Clarke finds the source of the screams quickly. A young girl is curled up at the base of a tree just outside the dropship, her skin slick with sweat as she twitches in her sleep. Clarke kneels down and touches her shoulder gently, and the girl startles awake.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Clarke says, running a soothing hand over the girl’s braids. “You’re Charlotte, right?”

 

She nods and takes a shaky breath, and Clarke’s heart lurches. The girl can’t be much older than twelve. What could she have possibly done to end up here?

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarke asks. Charlotte wipes her eyes, and Clarke notices that she too is without a wristband.

 

 _Damn it, Bellamy_.

 

“There was a man on the Ark,” Charlotte explains, “who lived down the hall from us. He was friends with my dad, and he would come to our quarters sometimes.”

 

Her voice takes on that tone that every female-identifying person unfortunately recognizes immediately. Clarke pulls her in close.

 

“He told me it was my fault, but I never asked him to touch me.” Charlotte takes a deep, shaky breath. “He was eating lunch with us in the mess hall, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just lost it, and I started hitting him and screaming. It didn’t matter what I said after that; he was friends with one of the guardsmen, I ended up in lockup the next day.”

 

“Oh, Charlotte,” Clarke says, “it’s not your fault. None of it is.”

 

“That’s why I let Bellamy take off my wristband.” Charlotte rests her head on Clarke’s shoulder. “If the Ark thinks we’re all dead, they won’t come down. He won’t come down.”

 

“You’ll be safe down here, do you understand me?” Clarke assures her. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

 

Charlotte falls asleep eventually, but Clarke stays awake until sunrise. Jasper’s screams are constant throughout the night.

* * *

“The Grounders made a poultice out of this substance,” Clarke tells Finn. She prods at the spongy red matter and frowns. “If we can find some more, we can help treat Jasper’s wound.”

 

Wells appears out of nowhere and sits down beside them, and Clarke feels a flash of annoyance.

 

“Let me take a look at that?” Wells offers.

 

“We’ve got it,” Clarke sniffs. Rolling his eyes, Wells grabs the poultice from her hands.

 

“Let’s not forget who aced Earth biology, alright?” Wells peers at it for a moment before peeling a piece off and rubbing it between his fingers. “It’s seaweed.”

 

Clarke turns back to Finn. “Do you know of a water source nearby?”

 

“It would have to have a slow current, lots of rocks,” Wells supplies, “and the water would probably be more red than green.”

 

“I know just the place,” Finn says with a smirk.

 

“Great.” Clarke jumps to her feet. “Lead the way.”

 

“Hey!” Wells calls after them. “I know what this stuff looks like. Do you?”

 

Five minutes into their walk, and Clarke is considering climbing a tree and never coming back down. It’s not as if she wants to be alone with Finn, either. Despite his friendly exterior, she can’t get over the fact that he seemed unfazed by the death of the two boys imitating him during the dropship landing. Still, she would rather walk with him than the boy who got her father killed.

 

“You should probably reconsider this whole ‘hating me’ thing,” Wells says. “With the Grounders and everything out here to kill us, you need all the friends you can get.”

 

“I’ll keep my eye out for one,” Clarke says drily, effectively shutting him up.

 

They find the seaweed, but an ominous fog rolls in that leaves the scrambling for cover in an abandoned automobile. Finn finds a flask of old booze in the console, and they pass it around, grimacing at the taste.

 

“Why is it that me not wanting Jasper to die seems to be a bad thing?” Clarke slurs after one too many sips. “Everyone thinks I’m such a downer. But I can be _fun_.”

 

“You _are_ fun,” Wells agrees. “Remember that time wh-”

 

“Remember when you betrayed me and got my father executed?” Clarke snaps, fixing him with a glare. “Yeah. I remember.”

* * *

When the fog passes, they exit to automobile to more screaming. This time, Clarke recognizes them, and they lead them to Charlotte, who is visibly shaken as some of Bellamy’s hunting party leads her back to camp.

 

“Charlotte, what is it?” Clarke asks, running over to her.

 

“It’s Atom,” Charlotte says shakily. “He was caught in the fog.” She glances up and Finn and Wells and her eyes widen.

 

“Where is he?” Clarke prods. Charlotte points behind her, and Clarke takes off.

 

The group stumbles into the clearing to find a brutally mutilated Atom. His skin is practically bubbling off, and the smell is nearly enough to make Clarke retch.  

 

Bellamy is crouched over his body, and he looks up at Clarke with a helpless expression she never thought she would see on him. In his hands is a knife, crudely fashioned out of dropship metal. He stares at it for a moment, then looks back to Atom. He grips the knife tighter in his hand, but doesn’t move.

 

“Kill me,” Atom wheezes. “Please, kill me.”

 

Clarke turns to Finn and Wells. “Go back to camp. Bring the seaweed and tell them to boil it.”

 

They nod solemnly, grabbing her backpack and turning away from them. Clarke kneels on the other side of Atom, examining his wounds before she purses her lips and looks up at Bellamy sadly, shaking her head. He squeezes his eyes shut with a sigh.

 

“Okay!” Clarke says, trying to keep her tone bright. “I’m going to help you, alright?”

 

Atom coughs, his eyes rolling back in his head as she starts to stroke her hair. She wordlessly holds her hand out, and Bellamy presses the knife into it.

 

She hums her favorite lullaby as she plunges the knife into Atom’s neck and he bleeds out at their feet.

* * *

Jasper is able to hold down some of the seaweed tea, which Clarke takes as a good sign. Octavia wipes his mouth as some of it dribbles down his chin.

 

“I’m sorry about Atom,” Clarke says gently.

 

Octavia sniffs. “I guess we’ll have to get used to people dying around here, aren’t we?” She runs her hands through Jasper’s hair with a small smile. “But now you, alright? You’re staying right here.”

 

She leaves once Jasper’s fever breaks, saying something about needing to talk to brother. That leaves just Clarke, Monty, and Wells, who just won’t seem to leave her alone. Something in her finally snaps, and she turns away from Jasper to glare at him.

 

“You know, maybe we should talk about it,” she tells him. “Since you seemed so adamant about it earlier.”

 

“Clarke-”

 

“What were you thinking?” Clarke snaps. “Please, tell me. Let me know what was going through your mind when you decided to kill my father.”

 

“I made a mistake, Clarke,” Wells says softly, looking down at his feet.

 

“’ _I made a mistake, Clarke_ ,’” she scoffs. “Not good enough.”

 

Wells is silent.

 

“I bet you couldn’t wait to run to your dad and tell him everything,” she sneers, “so you could prove that you were the perfect son he always wanted.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Clarke?” Wells explodes.

 

“I want a fucking explanation!”

 

Wells swallows thickly. “I can’t give you one.”

 

“I thought I could trust my best friend,” she says, eyeing him with disgust. “I guess we were both wrong.”

 

“I’m still your friend, Clarke-”

 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Clarke says tiredly, turning back to Jasper’s wound. After a beat, she hears Wells fling open the hatch and stomp down the ladder. She angrily wipes away her tears and continues to apply the seaweed in silence. After a few moments, Monty speaks up.

 

“You were a bit hard on Wells,” he says softly. If anyone else were to make that comment, Clarke would’ve told them to stick it up their ass, but for some reason she can’t find it in her heart to feel any sort of ill feelings toward the sweet boy.

 

“You would be two, if he was the reason your dad was dead,” she grumbles. Monty puts down the equipment.

 

“He turned in your dad to the Chancellor?” Monty asks, dubious. “Are you sure? He didn’t seem to be able to give you a straight answer before.”

 

“Who else could it have been?” Clarke says. “He was the only person I told.”

 

Monty gives her a meaningful look. “Was he the only one who knew?”

* * *

After changing Jasper’s bandages, Clarke sets out to find Wells. Monty’s words had gotten her thinking, and she needs a straight answer, once and for all.

 

She’s barely out of the dropship before Finn appears.

 

“How’s he doing?” he asks, falling into step with her.

 

“Stable for now. I’m cautiously optimistic,” she answers, scanning the crowd milling around outside.

 

“What you did for him was fantastic,” Finn says, stepping closer. “What you’ve been doing for all of us, really.”

 

“I did what I had to do,” Clarke says, eyeing him strangely. Finn reaches out, placing a hand on her arm.

 

“We’d be dead without you.” He pulls something out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her. “Here. For you.”

 

Clarke carefully shrugs out of his grip and examines the trinket. It’s a replica of the two-headed deer they spotted their first day on Earth, fashioned out of metal from the dropship.

 

“Thank you, Finn,” she says, giving him a small smile. He moves closer, and her smile quickly turns into a frown. “Have you seen Wells?”

 

Finn falters. “Last I saw he was digging a grave for Atom.”

 

_Of course he is._

 

“I need to find him. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Before he can answer, Clarke is heading to their makeshift gravesite. Sure enough, Wells is there, standing in a half-dug grave with a shovel.

 

“I know I probably don’t deserve it,” Clarke starts, and Wells turns to her in surprise. “But I want to know the truth.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the words. “It was my mom, wasn’t it? She was the one who turned in my dad.”

Wells doesn’t say anything.

 

“I couldn’t believe it at first. I didn’t want to. I blamed you because it was easier to hate you for something that was my mother’s fault, and you let me. Right?”

 

“Clarke, I-”

 

“ _Please_ , Wells,” Clarke begs. “Tell me.”

 

“I knew how you would feel if you knew the truth,” Well says finally. “I wanted to-”

 

“To protect me,” Clarke finishes. She laughs mirthlessly. “You let me hate you.”

 

Wells shrugs. “What are friends for?”

 

Clarke chokes out a sob. “How can you forgive me?”

 

Wells is already pulling her into his arms. “It’s already done.”

 

He holds her as she cries into his jacket, letting her get out everything she has been holding in since they landed on Earth. She cries for her father, for the people of the Ark, for those they have lost, for everyone they will inevitably lose in the days that follow. Eventually she is able to pull herself together, and Wells guides her back to the dropship with an arm over her shoulder and the promise that tomorrow is a new day.

 

Later, after Wells falls asleep, Clarke approaches Monty.

 

“Take my wristband off,” she says. He looks up at her with wide eyes.

 

“But your mother-”

 

“Fuck my mother,” she spits. “Let her feel some pain for once.”

* * *

Octavia finds Finn’s body in the woods the next morning, along with John Murphy’s knife. Clarke confronts him, despite Bellamy’s warnings, and before she can do anything to control it a mob is stringing him up in a tree.

 

“This is on you, Princess,” Bellamy spits at her when they kick the crate out from underneath him. Murphy’s body swings between the trees as he chokes and sputters for his breath.

 

“Stop it! Stop it, now!” Charlotte breaks into the crowd, in front of Bellamy and Clarke, Wells hot on her heels. “It was me! I killed him!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy swears, ripping his hatchet off of his belt and breaking through the crowd to cut Murphy lose.

 

 Clarke grabs Charlotte by the arm and drags her back into Bellamy’s tent. Wells follows, and as soon as Murphy is free, Bellamy does too. They hole themselves up in his tent while Murphy rages outside, ranting about injustice and how the little bitch needs to pay for what she did just like he did.

 

“What the hell, Charlotte?” Bellamy yells as the girl cowers next to Wells. “Why would you do something like this?”

 

“You told me to slay my demons,” Charlotte whispers.

 

Clarke turns on Bellamy. “You told her _what_?” She had barely known Finn, and her feelings toward him had been mixed but generally favorable, but she knew that he did not deserve the death he received.

 

“She misunderstood me,” Bellamy says, his face ashen. “I didn’t mean-”

 

“ _Bellamy! Let the girl come out and face her punishment_!” Murphy yells.

 

Wells grabs Charlotte’s hand. “Go out there and distract him,” he tells Bellamy. “Clarke, come with us. There’s a bunker marked on the map that we haven’t been to yet. If we find it, we can wait it out with her until they’ve calmed down.”

 

Clarke doesn’t particularly want to even look at the girl- the sweet, innocent face she had wiped tears off just hours before- but Bellamy is already nodding and storming out of the tent. Silently, Wells and Clarke sneak out the back and head into the woods.

 

Once they’re out of earshot, Wells pulls out the map from his back pocket and examines it. Charlotte tries to slip her hand in Clarke’s, but she pulls it away as if the touch burned her.

 

“Clarke,” Wells says, glancing pointedly at the little girl cowering into herself.

 

“ _What_?” Clarke retorts. She glares down at Charlotte. “You killed someone. _Ended his life_. Do you not understand that?”

 

“He reminded me of him,” Charlotte whimpers. “He made the nightmares worse. I had to make it stop.”

 

“Reminded you of who?” Wells asks.

 

Charlotte looks at her feet, sniffling. “His father.”

 

 _Oh_. Clarke’s heart sinks.

 

“Finn’s dad?” Wells asks, confused. “What does he-”

 

“I’ll explain later. Let’s just get to the bunker, okay?” Clarke continues walking, and Wells prods Charlotte along.

 

“Please don’t be mad at me, Clarke. I had to.”

 

Clarke sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face.

 

“I understand why you did it, Charlotte, but that doesn’t make it okay. You can’t kill someone just to make yourself feel better.”

 

They find the bunker, but Charlotte sneaks out while Clarke and Wells are asleep. They find her and Bellamy standing on the edge of a cliff, facing off Murphy and a handful of his followers, all wielding knives and torches. Clarke tries to reason with them, but Murphy grabs her and presses the blade to her throat. Before Bellamy can convince him to let her go, Charlotte bids them a tearful apology and throws herself off the cliff.

 

Bellamy throws himself at Murphy, pummeling him into the forest floor. Wells is barely able to pull him off in time for Clarke to throw herself between them.

 

“You can’t kill him,” she pleads, placing her hands on Bellamy’s chest to keep him at bay. “We’re done deciding who lives and dies.”

 

“So help me God, if you say _the people_ should decide-” Bellamy growls, trying to shove past her.

 

“No. I was wrong before, alright? We shouldn’t leave the decision making up to everyone. It’s not safe.”

 

“Then who’s going to make the rules, huh? _You_?”

 

“From now on, _we_ make the rules. Okay?”

 

Bellamy looks down at her, and he looks _so tired_ , and Clarke briefly wonders what his life must have been like before they came down here. Then she realizes that her hands are still on his chest, and she quickly drops them.

 

“We banish him,” Clarke continues, glancing towards Murphy’s bloody figure on the ground. “If he tries to show his face around camp again, our next decision won’t be so lenient.”

 

“Fine,” Bellamy agrees eventually. He turns to Murphy’s followers and addresses them with disdain. “You can either come back and follow us, or you can take your chances out here with him. Choose wisely- you won’t be given an opportunity to again.”

* * *

Monty tries to rewire the wristbands so they can communicate with the Ark, but instead he fries the wires universally. All chances they have of communication are gone.

 

Clarke finds Wells crouched outside of the dropship, his head in his hands.

 

“My father thinks I’m dead,” he croaks, “and now he’s never going to know I’m not.”

 

Clarke sinks down beside him and takes his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry, Wells.”

 

There isn’t much else for her to say.

 

Hours later, they’re munching on pieces of panther meat when a shooting star flashes across the sky. Only it’s burning way too hot and moving way too fast, and shooting stars don’t have parachutes.

 

“It’s a pod from the Ark!” someone yells.

 

“They’re here to help us!”

 

“I hope they brought shampoo,” someone mutters drily.

 

“We need to go find it!”

 

“ _No one leaves until dawn_ ,” Bellamy commands. “It’s not safe out there.”

 

A few people roll their eyes, but for the most part, everyone agrees, eager to get back to sleep. Wells brings up the idea of redistributing the supplies from the bunker, and together they go to find Bellamy to see what he thinks. Instead, they find two naked girls, and as much as Clarke appreciates the visual, it leads to her connect the dots.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” she hisses. “He went after the damn pod himself.”

* * *

The girl is slightly bloody and a bit dizzy, but otherwise unharmed. Clarke helps her out of the still-smoking pod, and Wells pulls out some makeshift bandages from his pack to press against the cut on her head.

 

“You’re the Chancellor’s kid,” she murmurs dazedly as he dabs at her wound.

 

“You’re Raven Reyes,” Wells says, smiling softly. “The youngest Zero-G mechanic in 52 years.”

 

Raven’s eyes widen. “You know who I am?” Before he can answer, she seems to realize her surroundings. Her mouth forms an O as she steps forward out of their grip, gasping as the leaves crunch beneath her feet.

 

“Welcome to Earth,” Clarke tells her.

 

Raven looks to her with a dazzling smile. Her eyes suddenly flicker with recognition. “You’re Abby Griffin’s kid, right? Clarke?”

 

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek to keep from frowning. “Yes.”

 

“This was your mom’s idea!” Raven exclaims. “She’s the one who orchestrated this whole thing. We were supposed to come down together but she- oh, shit.”

 

Raven turns back to the pod and rips open the door, digging around for something.

 

“What is it? What are you looking for?” Wells asks, coming to her side.

 

“My radio! I’m supposed to report back that you’re alive or else they’re going to float 300 people to save oxygen.” Raven holds up pieces of frayed wire. “It’s gone.”

 

Clarke sucks in a deep breath. “Someone took it.” She turns to Wells. “He beat us here.”

 

Raven grabs a switchblade from inside the pod and sets her jaw. “I need that radio.”

 

Wells shoulders his pack. “Let’s go, then.”

 

“Wait!” Raven reaches back into the pod and pulls out a thin metal chain. “My boyfriend came down here with you guys. Finn Collins? Can you tell me where he is?”

 

Clarke eyes the chain Raven is twirling in her hands, and sees the bird in flight, fashioned in the same style as the two-headed deer Finn has given her just the day before. She can’t tell her the truth, not yet.

 

“We lost a few people in the landing,” Clarke finds herself saying. “Finn was one of them. I’m so sorry, Raven.”

 

She can feel Wells’ eyes on her but she doesn’t look at him. Raven’s face crumples, and she clutches the chain close to her chest for a moment. Her eyes squeeze shut, and when she opens them, her face is hardened and she eyes Clarke suspiciously.

 

“Alright. Let’s get my radio.”

 

They find Bellamy halfway back to camp, attempting to look casual as he strolls through the woods.

 

“Hey! Bellamy!” Clarke calls, racing to catch up with him.

 

“Hey, Princess, off for a nice walk in the woods?” he says nonchalantly, avoiding her gaze. She grabs his arm and tugs him around to face her.

 

“What the hell did you do with the radio?” she snarls.

 

Bellamy’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Hey! Asshole!” Raven comes jogging up to them, Wells right behind her. When she notices Bellamy, her eyes widen and she smirks. “Oh, I know why you took it. You’ve got a lot of people looking for you, Bellamy Blake.”  


“What is she talking about?” Clarke asks him. Bellamy’s fists clench at his sides. “Bellamy, if you don’t tell us where the radio is, they’re going to sacrifice 300 people to save oxygen. Their lives are in your hands!”

 

Bellamy glances down at her. “It’s too late,” he mutters. “It’s gone.” His eyes flit back to Raven. “I should’ve killed _you_ when I had the chance.”

 

“Yeah?” Raven taunts. “Well, I’m right here.”

 

Bellamy lunges toward her, his large hand grabbing her around the throat and shoving her against a tree. Clarke and Wells yell in protest, and Raven brandishes her switchblade just under Bellamy’s nose.

 

“You’d rather let 300 innocent people die than to face the consequences, huh?” she sneers. Bellamy’s grip on her throat tightens.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls.

 

“Bellamy, _what did you do_?” Clarke says, pulling at his arm.

 

Raven doesn’t look away from Bellamy as she answers. “He shot the Chancellor.”

 

“He what?” Wells roars, grabbing Bellamy by the collar of his shirt and swinging him back. He rounds on him, but before Wells can lay a hand on him Raven continues.

 

“And he’s a lousy shot.”

 

Bellamy drops his arms. “What?”

 

Raven rubs her throat, stepping forward. “You didn’t kill him. Clarke’s mom patched him up, good as new.” Her voice is gentler when she addresses Wells. “Your dad is fine.”

 

Wells visibly relaxes, stepping away from Bellamy with a deep sigh. Clarke rushes forward, giving Bellamy a strong poke in the chest.

 

“You see? You’re not a murder.” His eyes bore into hers, and she is momentarily struck by them, for they contain the richest, most beautiful swirls of brown. “You did what you had to do to protect your sister. _That’s_ who you are, Bellamy. You can help us protect these people, too.”

 

After what feels like a lifetime, Bellamy nods.

 

They find the radio in the river, waterlogged and seemingly unfixable. Bellamy kicks a bunch of pebbles on the shore, swearing.

 

“I need to dry out the parts to determine if I can salvage anything,” Raven says. Her brows furrows. “Wait. We don’t need to actually _talk_ to the Ark, right? We just need to let them know we’re down here.”

 

“How do we do that?” Wells asks.

 

Finally, Raven cracks a smile. “How do you feel about some fireworks?”

* * *

They launch the flares, and Raven gives Monty the radio to play around with before she disappears. Clarke finds her staring at the makeshift graves, the chain dangling limply from her left hand.

 

“Are you going to tell me the truth now?” Raven says without turning around.

“What do you-”

 

“Spare me the bullshit, Clarke,” Raven scoffs, curling her legs underneath her and sitting on the dirt. “Your mom showed me his transmission before I agreed to help her. Finn was alive long after you all came down. Plus, his grave is fresh.”

 

Her voice hitches on the word “grave”. Clarke sits down beside her, tentatively placing a hand on her knee.

 

“We found his body yesterday morning,” she begins, and Raven starts crying silently. Clarke tells the whole story, sparing only the awkward details of Finn’s particular fixation on her. By the time she is finished, she has both arms wrapped around Raven, who is finished crying and is resting her head on Clarke’s shoulder.

 

“Can you give me some time alone with him?” she sniffles. “To say…to say goodbye?”

 

“Of course.” Clarke squeezes her shoulder’s and extrapolates herself gently. “Come back to the dropship when you’re done, alright? I’ll make up a bed for you.”

 

Raven gives her a halfhearted smile. “Thanks, Clarke.”

 

Wells finds her an hour later, passed out next to Finn’s crude headstone, still clutching her necklace.

* * *

The flares don’t work. Raven nearly murders Bellamy when she wakes up and finds out.

 

“This is all your fault,” she yells, lunging at him. Wells grabs her around the waist and she struggles to get out of his hold. “If you hadn’t stolen my radio this wouldn’t have happened.”

 

“Hey, I helped you find it,” he snaps back, and Raven rolls her eyes.

 

“Yeah, after you fucking trashed it, you prick.”

 

“Hey! Relax,” Clarke intervenes. “Bellamy knows what happened.” She looks at him over her shoulder and he has the decency the look somewhat ashamed. “Now he has to live with it.”

 

An hour later, Bellamy pulls Clarke aside.

 

“Octavia is missing,” he tells her. “We had an argument in the woods earlier and she ran off but she never came back and I-”

 

“We’ll find her, okay?” Clarke places a soothing hand on his arm. “I’ll help you look.”

 

Bellamy swallows thickly, and when he speaks again his voice is the sincerest she has ever heard it. “ _Thank you_ , Clarke.”

 

“I’m not doing it for you,” she sniffs, because even if he is vulnerable right now it doesn’t excuse him being a raging asshole the rest of the time. “I’m doing it for Octavia.”

 

Raven and Wells approach her just as she is about to leave with Bellamy’s crew. Wells explains that Raven might be able to salvage the radio with the help of spare parts, and Clarke offers to take her to the bunker to find some. Wells takes Clarke’s place with Bellamy and the search party (Miller, Jasper, Monroe, Roma, and Mbege), and both groups part ways.

 

In the bunker, Raven spies the two-headed deer. Clarke belatedly remembers taking it out of her pocket to show Wells while they were hiding out with Charlotte, and she kicks herself for not remembering to take it back with her.

 

“Finn made this,” Raven says slowly, twirling it in her fingers. She looks up at Clarke with an unreadable expression. “For you.”

 

“Raven, _nothing_ happened between us, I swear.” Clarke promises.

 

“But he wanted it do,” Raven presses. “Didn’t he? Be honest.”

 

Clarke bites her lip and nods. Raven laughs mirthlessly, collapsing onto the tiny couch.

 

“Finn was the only family I had, you know,” she explains. “I never knew my dad, and I’m pretty sure my mom only had me to trade in my rations for moonshine. Finn lived next door, and he was the only one who ever seemed to care about me. He remembered my birthday, shared his rations…” Her voice trembles as she continues. “Took the blame for my spacewalk.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I failed the physical exam for Zero-G and they weren’t going to let me be a mechanic. Finn snuck me in one night and gave me the spacewalk I always wanted. Something went wrong and I wasted a week’s worth of oxygen. Because I was already eighteen, Finn took the blame.” Raven covers her face with my hands. “It’s my fault he was in lockup. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

 

“Raven, no,” Clarke says, throwing her arms around the girl. “You can’t think like that.”

 

“I have no family left,” Raven says, her voice muffled by her hands.

 

“That’s not true.” Clarke rests her cheek on top of Raven’s head. “You have us now.”

* * *

The search party comes back with Octavia, but minus Mbege and Roma. When Clarke sees Miller and Jasper carrying in a bloody Wells with a knife hanging out of his chest, Clarke nearly loses her mind.

 

“What happened?” she cried, running over to them.

 

“Grounder stabbed him,” Miller grunts. “Bellamy told us not to take the knife out.”

 

Clarke shoots him a grateful look. “That was a good call.” She looks back to Wells, her gut twisting. “Get him to the med bay.”

 

The boys haul him off, and Clarke looks up to the sky, the clouds turning from grey to black.

 

“Storm’s coming,” Bellamy mutters beside her.

 

“Yeah,” she sighs. “More than one.”

 

Between the salvageable parts of the radio and spare pieces they found at the bunker, Raven and Monty are confident that they will have communications up soon. But soon isn’t good enough.

 

Clarke frets over Wells, wrapping his wound as tightly as possible. “I can’t do this alone,” she cries. “I need…I need my mom.”

 

Bellamy and Miller appear, drenched from the storm and dragging a Grounder through the crowd.

 

“What the fuck, Bellamy?” Clarke shouts. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Getting some answers,” he challenges. Clarke looks back to Wells, who is getting paler by the minute.

 

“Fine,” she sighs, turning back to Wells. “But do it upstairs.”

 

Octavia arrives with two cups of moonshine and clears everyone out to the upper levels of the dropship. Clarke can hear her freaking out over the Grounder, but she tunes her out because Raven finally gets a signal through to the Ark, and it’s patchy but it’s _there_. Raven helps as Abby Griffin guides Clarke through the operation, and she is able to remove the knife just as a tremendous gust of wind knocks shakes the dropship. Raven, Wells, and Clarke tumble to the ground, but Wells comes to with a weak smile.

 

“Hey doc,” he coughs. Clarke and Raven help him back onto the table and Clarke gets to work on dressing his wound.

 

“Hey, tough guy, what happened?” Raven teases, plucking the forgotten knife from the ground. “You scared us for a second there.”

 

Wells grimaces. “It was a mistake. The Grounder… he cauterized Octavia’s wound. He was helping her.”

 

Clarke quickly instructs Raven to keep pressure on the wound before flinging herself up the ladder. She bangs on the hatch until Miller opens it and then forces herself inside.

 

The Grounder is bound by his wrists in a standing position, his face covered in cuts and dried blood.

 

“Let him go,” she commands. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

 

“Are you serious, Princess? He almost killed Wells.”

 

“Wells is awake now and told me it was a mistake. He told me that the Grounder was _helping_ Octavia, not hurting her.”

 

Miller scoffs, and Clarke throws him a glare.

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Bellamy sniffs and turns back to the Grounder. “His people are still killing ours. He’s not going anywhere until I get some fucking answers.”

 

Clarke sighs, rubbing her temples with her hands, still stained with Wells’ blood. “Well, if he didn’t hate us before, he sure does now.”

 

“You want me to pull up a bed for him and make him comfortable while his people are out there murdering ours?”

 

“Maybe try letting Octavia talk to him, since she’s the only one he seems to care about,” Clarke snaps, turning and climbing down the ladder again. When she gets to the bottom, she can see that Wells has fallen asleep again and she can hear her mom’s voice through the radio.

 

“Clarke? Clarke? Are you there?”

 

“Yeah, Mom,” she says tiredly.

 

“Raven, would you mind giving us a second to talk?” Abby asks.

 

“Sure.” Raven stands, wiping her hands and lightly brushing Wells’ forehead. “I’ll be upstairs.”

 

When she’s gone, Abby speaks again.

 

“Clarke, I am so proud of you. Your father would be so proud of you, too.”

 

Something inside of Clarke snaps at that moment.

 

“ _No_ ,” she snarls. “You do _not_ get to talk about him.”

 

“Clarke?” Abby’s voice is surprised, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

“You do not get to talk about dad like you’re not the reason he’s dead,” Clarke hisses. “You turned him in. Your husband. My _father_. You let him _die_.”

 

“Clarke, I-” Abby’s voice cracks. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Thelonious was supposed to talk him out of it.”

 

“I don’t care,” Clarke cries. “You still did it. And you let Wells take the blame for it, too. He let me hate him all this time, so I wouldn’t hate you. Well, guess what?”

 

“Please, Clarke, let me explain-”

 

“No _, fuck you_ , Mom,” Clarke reaches forward and slams her fist on the button. “I am _done_ talking to you.”

 

She collapses next to the radio, sobbing into her hands. She loses track of how long she cries, until the sound of footsteps on the ladder snap her out of it. She wipers her face quickly and turns, expecting it to be Raven, but it’s Bellamy instead.

 

“I, uh, I told Octavia to talk to him,” he says, almost sheepishly. “Apparently his name is Lincoln.”

 

Clarke attempts a watery smile. “Well, that’s progress, at least.”

 

Bellamy frowns, and he takes a step closer. “You alright, Clarke?”

 

She takes a shaky breath. “All this,” she gestures towards Wells and the radio, “just kind of got to me, I guess.”

 

“And your mom?”

 

Clarke feels herself blush. “You heard that, huh?”

 

“I tried not to,” he admits. “It seemed private.”

 

She chuckles, and then winces at the headache beginning to bloom behind her eyes.

 

“We have our work cut out for us down here,” she muses.

 

“It’s not easy being in charge, is it?” Bellamy replies.

 

Clarke doesn’t answer.

* * *

They come to a compromise regarding Lincoln: he isn’t allowed to leave the dropship, but he is no longer restrained and Octavia is allowed to speak with him. The arrangement is temporary, to be reconsidered if and when Lincoln gives them any valuable information.

 

Raven and Monty rewire the monitor from the dropship to create a two-way video feed with the Ark, which Clarke uses to ignore her mother’s pleas to talk and to relay information to Chancellor Jaha. The Chancellor informs her of a supply depot a few miles away, and after she leaves Raven thorough instructions on how to change Wells’ bandages, her and Bellamy head out the next morning.

 

They find the bunker, and after weeding through cobwebs and grime and even a fucking _skeleton_ , Bellamy uncovers the barrels of rifles, preserved in grease.

 

“Ready to be badass, Clarke?” he asks with a smirk as she shoulders her rifle. She tries to ignore the flush that spreads down her neck when his large, warm hand presses against her back, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

 

It’s his comment about Miller that gets him caught, and after Clarke yells at him for planning to leave, he storms out of the bunker to get some air. Her vision starts to warp then, the gun becoming pliable in her hands and her father’s arms around her, telling her to forgive her mother. She almost believes it, until suddenly her father’s face is replaced with Dax’s and the butt of his gun is slamming into her skull.

 

When she wakes, her head is pounding and she can hear Bellamy screaming. Clarke grabs her own rifle and sprints out of the bunker, finding Bellamy on the ground and Dax with a gun to his head near the tree line.

 

“Shumway said no witnesses,” Dax grunts when he turns the gun on her. When his bullets don’t fire, Bellamy clambers to his feet and tackles him to the ground. They fight evenly for the briefest of moments before Bellamy grabs a stray bullet and stabs him in the neck. Clarke pulls him off the body, and they stumble to the base of a tree, panting.

 

“We’re okay,” Clarke says, “you’re okay.” Bellamy takes a few shuddering breaths, and Clarke knocks her knee against his. “You’re okay.”

 

“I’ve always thought,” Bellamy gulps, “that who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things. But if this is who I need to be to survive, then I’m not so sure surviving is worth it.”

 

“Bellamy, you-”

 

“I’m a monster, Clarke.” He turns to look at her, and she is shocked by the tears in his eyes. “How many deaths are on my hands? My mother, the people from the Culling, now Dax. _Hundreds of people_ , dead because of me.” He closes his eyes and rests his head against the bark of the tree. “I should’ve just let him kill me.”

 

“ _Bellamy_.” Clarke grabs his hand, and his eyes blink open in surprise. “You saved my life today, you know that? You maybe a total ass half the time, but I need you. _We all need you_. None of us would have survived this place if it wasn’t for you.”

 

He drops his gaze, and Clarke tugs on his hand until he looks back up at her.

 

“If you want forgiveness, fine. I’ll give it to you. You’re forgiven, okay? But you have to come back with me. You have to face you’ve done and only then can you move past it.”

 

Bellamy scoffs. “Like you faced your mom?”

 

Clarke sighs. “You’re right. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to do any of this shit because it’s hard and it’s painful but I don’t have a choice. _We_ don’t have a choice. All I think about every day is how we’re going to keep everyone alive.”

 

Bellamy stares down at their entwined hands. “When Jaha comes down, everything is going to change,” he mutters.

 

“We’ll figure it out. Together.”

 

“Later?” he asks hopefully. Clarke offers him a small smile.

 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

Unity Day is met with festivities and a hell of a lot of Monty’s moonshine. Clarke is standing off to the side, about to try her hand at a drinking game a couple of kids are playing when Bellamy appears next to her, two cups in his hand. The liquid threatens to spill over the side when he hands her one, and she licks a dribble off the side of her hand without a second thought.

 

“A peace offering,” Bellamy tells her after clearing his throat.

 

“Is that so?” They clink their cups together before each taking a sip. “Someone’s in the Unity Day spirit.”

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I just want to thank you, Clarke. I know I’ve been a total ass for more than half the time, but you still haven’t written me off. I, uh, I appreciate that. A lot.”

Clarke reaches out and wraps her fingers around his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a bad guy, Bellamy. Remember that.”

 

Bellamy ducks his head, his dark curls flopping adorably onto his forehead, covering his eyes. Clarke takes another sip of moonshine to stop herself from reaching out and running her hands through them.

 

“Go have some fun, Princess,” Bellamy says, nodding towards the game she had been eyeing up earlier. “You deserve it.”

 

She gulps down the rest of her moonshine, trying not to wince as it burns her throat. “So do you, you know.”

 

“I’ll have my fun when the Grounders come,” he jokes. Octavia claims she knows nothing of Lincoln’s mysterious disappearance that occurred while they were on their day trip a few days before. He is bound to have returned to his people by now, and Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if they were under attack by morning.

 

“That’s not the kind of fun I was talking about.” The words are out of her mouth before she can grasp the weight behind them. Bellamy’s eyes darken immediately, and his grip on the cup tightens. Clarke did not mean the words in a suggestive tense, but now that she has said them, an idea sparks in her brain.

 

And, to be honest, she doesn’t really mind it.

 

“Yeah?” Bellamy grunts. “What kind of fun _are_ you talking about, Princess?”

 

_It’s now or never._

 

Clarke steps forward, her empty cup falling to the ground. She stands up on her tiptoes and presses her mouth to his in a gentle kiss, lightly nipping his lip as she pulls away.

 

“Play your cards right and I’ll show you,” she whispers into his ear, relishing in the shiver that rolls through him at her words.

 

And that’s how they end up tucked away in Bellamy’s tent, rolling around on his makeshift mattress, grinding their centers together.

 

Clarke’s shirt is unbuttoned and tugged down so that her breast spill over the fabric, and Bellamy’s right hand teasingly strokes her nipples as he kisses her hungrily. She sits on his lap, her hands wound tightly into his thick, inky curls, rocking forward every few seconds so that her center grinds against the bulge in his pants. They break apart to breathe and his left hand snakes beneath the waistband of her pants, which he had unbuttoned moments before.

 

“I’ve been thinking about your hands since that day in the bunker,” Clarke moans as her cups her sex through her panties. “How big they are, how strong How they’d feel if you- oh,”

 

He rubs her clit through the fabric, and she trails off.

 

“If I did this?” he prompts, his finger moving in tight circles.

 

“ _More_ ,” Clarke moans, fusing their lips together again. Bellamy slips his fingers beneath her panties, and he groans when he encounters the warm wetness he finds there. He rubs her clit for a few moments before slowly inserting a finger into her cunt.

 

“ _Yes_ , that’s it,” Clarke sighs, dropping her head down to rest against his shoulder. He inserts another finger, crooking them until he feels that spongy spot inside of her, and her thighs tremble around him.

 

“Fucking hell, Clarke,” he groans, using his palm to press against her clit as he finger fucks her. “I can’t wait to see what you taste like.”

 

Clarke cries out, throwing her head back. The walls of her cunt clench around his fingers, so he drops his head to lave at her breasts. He bites down gently on one nipple, and when she comes with a low moan he whispers that it is the fucking hottest thing he has ever heard.

 

When she slumps forward, boneless, his arm comes up to catch her, steadying her against his chest. She groans in protest when he removes his fingers, but it turns into a moan when she watches him bring his fingers to his mouth and lick them clean with a salacious wink.

 

 _Two can play at that game._  
  


Clarke slips one hand into her panties, her eyes never leaving Bellamy’s as she gathers the wetness still seeping from her pussy. With her other hand she unbuttons his pants, pulling his cock out from its confines. He hisses when her hand makes contact with him, slick with her own wetness. She jerks him off for a few moments, loving the weight of him in her palm, watching his thick length slide through her hand. She licks her lips, about to lean down so she can put her mouth on him when-

 

“Clarke! _Clarke_!”

 

Wells’ voice is like a bucket of cold water being dumped over them. Clarke springs off of Bellamy’s lamp, adjusting her shirt and buttoning her pants. Bellamy hastily pulls himself together as well, grumbling something Clarke can’t quite make out as Wells draws closer.

 

“What is it, Wells?” Clarke ducks out of the tent, Bellamy right behind her. If Wells thinks anything strange of them being together, he doesn’t show it. He grabs them both by the elbow and drags them straight back in, and Clarke flushes at the sight of the disheveled blankets on Bellamy’s bed.

 

“I set up a meeting with the Grounders,” Wells deadpans.

 

“ _What_?” Bellamy and Clarke cry out in unison.

 

“Octavia has been sneaking out to meet with Lincoln- _Don’t give me that look, Bellamy, of course she has_ \- and I followed her. He agreed to arrange a meeting with his leader and ours.”

 

“You do remember that this is the guy who stabbed you, right?” Clarke asks, pointedly staring at the spot on his chest where she knows his bandages are.

 

“Whose people strung up Jasper as live bait and also killed half a dozen of our own?” Bellamy adds.

 

“You’re the one who captured him and was ready to torture him for information,” Wells retorts. “Look, I’m not saying they’re innocent. Both parties are guilty here. But I think there’s some sort of miscommunication going on here, and if this meeting doesn’t work out then we can at least know that we tried to settle things diplomatically _before_ killing them.”

 

“This meeting ‘not working out’ ends with one or all of us dead,” Bellamy says. “I’m not too keen on that idea.”

 

Wells rolls his eyes. “That’s why we go in with backup. They’re sure as hell going to have some sort of guards with them, and we would be stupid not to do the same.”

 

Clarke rubs her eyes tiredly. “Fine. Let me grab my pack and we’ll head out.” Bellamy sighs, grabbing his own pack from the floor next to his bed.

 

Wells grins. “Happy Unity Day, everyone.”

* * *

Anya is quite easily the most terrifyingly beautiful woman Clarke has ever seen. Bellamy stands beside her, arms folded in front of him, as the warrior appraises them. Wells stands a few yards behind them on the bridge, and although Clarke cannot see them, she is comforted knowing that Miller and Raven are hidden in the trees.

 

“We believe that we got off on the wrong foot.” Clarke starts, trying to keep her tone as pleasant as possible. “But we want to find a way to live together in peace.”

 

“I understand.” Anya says coolly. “You started a war you don’t know how to end.”

 

“A war?” Clarke gapes. “You attacked us for no reason-”

 

“No reason?” Anya scoffs. “The missiles you launched burned a village to the ground.”

 

“Missiles?”

 

“The flares,” Bellamy supplies. “They were supposed to be a signal.”

 

“The rest of our people are still in space. We were trying to let them know that it’s safe to join us,” Clarke explains.

 

“You are invaders. You are on our land.”

 

“We didn’t know anyone was here,” Bellamy says.

 

Anya whirls on him. “You knew we were here when _you_ led an armed raiding party to capture one of our own.” Bellamy sets his jaw. “These are all acts of war.”

 

“I see your point,” Clarke intervenes. “That’s why we need to put an end to all of this.” Her answer seems to appease Anya, who relaxes her stance infinitesimally.  “The rest of our people are coming down in a matter of days. They have more supplies, more weapons. If they think we are at war with you, they will wipe your people out.”

 

Anya smirks. “They wouldn’t be the first to try.”

 

Despite being unnerved by the statement, Clarke plows on. “But we also have farmers, engineers, doctors. We are willing to attempt to coexist with you, to share resources. We didn’t come down here to start a war and I understand that our actions were interpreted as aggressive but you need to understand that we are here now, asking for peace.”

 

The woman crosses her arms in front of her chest. The movement makes her jacket slip open, and Clarke glances down at the variety of blades stuck in various holsters along her abdomen and legs.

 

“I can offer you peace from the people I lead here,” Anya says finally, “but I cannot speak on behalf of my whole clan. Do not push your luck, and perhaps I will arrange a meeting with the Commander.”

 

Bellamy lets out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Clarke exhales with a smile. “Thank you, Anya.”

 

“Do not thank me yet,” she says. “We will discuss the terms of our peace tomorrow at dawn. You will meet me here.” She eyes Bellamy with disdain. “Both of you.”

 

“We’ll be here.” Clarke extends her hand, and Anya takes it with a grip that almost make her wince. She doesn’t shake Bellamy’s hand so much as she seems to squeeze it as tight as possible, but he says nothing.

 

Anya turns and walks back to her side of the bridge. As she is mounting her horse, she looks over her shoulder at them.

 

“Tomorrow, tell your warriors that they need not seek shelters in the trees,” she calls, then pulls the reins of her horse and rides off, her people hot on her tail.

 

“I say that went alright!” Wells exclaims giddily from behind them when the Grounders are out of earshot.

 

The walk back to camp is uneventful. Bellamy and Miller walk together in relative silence while Wells and Octavia, having said goodbye to Lincoln at the bridge, try to explain what they’ve learned about the Grounder hierarchy to Clarke and Raven. Clarke can feel Bellamy’s eyes boring into the back of her head the whole way, and she does her best to ignore it. She also does her best to suppress the memories of his hands sliding beneath the waistband of her pants, the feeling of her breasts pressed against his firm chest, the way he panted into her ear when she first touched his cock…

 

But then she remembers the harem of girls filing in and out of his tent the first few days on the ground. She knows his type; she had seen her fair share of them on the Ark. If he wants a revolving door of companions then that’s fine, honestly- she is the last person to comment on another’s sexual preferences. But she does not want to be a part of it.

 

“Clarke, we should talk about what happened.” Bellamy catches her elbow as they walk back through the gates camp.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarke says, trying to keep her voice even. “It’s fine.”

 

“I just think we should-” He can barely get his sentence out before she interrupts him.

 

“We both needed a release. I’m sorry you didn’t get yours, really, but don’t worry. I know what it was.”

 

“Is that right?” Bellamy’s face hardens. “What was it?”

 

“It was just fun, right?” She forces a smile. “We deserved to have some fun.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, Princess,” he says before storming away towards his tent. “Just some fun.”

* * *

The Exodus ship crashes in Grounder territory, and they take it as another sign of war- this one being the last straw. Octavia finds Murphy outside of camp the next day, and within hours a good quarter of the population has come down the mystery virus he brought with him.

 

Clarke tries to make a quarantine in the dropship, but she doesn’t remain immune for long. A camper turns his gun on her in panic as she addresses them from the ship, and Bellamy knocks him out in two quick blows. She doesn’t have time to appreciate it before a wave of dizziness flows over her, and she collapses to the ground.

 

Or rather, she almost does, but Bellamy surges forward and catches her. She can barely hear the orders he barks as he brings her inside and lays her down on a cot.  His touch is surprisingly gentle, and he brushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. Octavia returns with news that there is no cure for the virus, and that the Grounders are attacking at first light. Raven manages to gather hydrazine from the wreckage of the Exodus ship, and while everyone prepares to fight, she creates the bomb that blasts the bridge that connects the two territories sky high.

 

Clarke and Bellamy watch the plume of smoke rise from outside the dropship.

 

“They did it,” Bellamy says in awe. Raven, Wells, and Miller had left in the dead of night, while everyone else was still coughing up blood.

 

“ _I am become death_ ,” Clarke murmurs, “ _destroyer of worlds_.” She glances over her shoulder at Bellamy, as if realizing she wasn’t by herself. “It’s Oppenheimer. The man who created the first-”

 

“I know who Oppenheimer is,” he grunts. He knocks her elbow with his, and she leans back against his side.

 

“Do you think we have a chance at surviving this thing?” Clarke asks as everyone files inside the dropship behind them.

 

“Probably not,” Bellamy says, his eyes on the smoke. “But they didn’t think we had a chance at surviving down here either.”

 

Two days later, Clarke and Wells lead a hunt for food after the smokehouse burns to the ground. They’re captured by Grounders and taken to Anya, who forces Clarke to heal one of the warriors wounded on the bridge. She is a young girl, and she reminds Clarke of Charlotte, and just like Charlotte, she can’t be saved. The Grounders drag Wells away as Clarke screams in protest. There is one man left with Clarke, and he tells her that she will be welcomed in their tribe if she can prove her worth.

 

She kills him in a matter of minutes, and she feels no remorse.

 

Clarke escapes, but she doesn’t make it far before her foot gets caught in a trap and soon she is hanging upside down, swinging from a branch. Her head knocks against the trunk of a tree, and she loses consciousness immediately.

 

When she wakes, she is chained to the ground outside, with Anya glaring down at her. A man appears, who Anya calls Tristan, who tells her that the Commander has sent him to take over her unit. When he looks down at Clarke with disgust in his eyes, he tells her that he is the one who has been sent to slaughter her people.

 

“Move out!” Tristan yells at his men They mount their horses and prepare to leave, but Anya stops them.

 

“Look!” She points to the sky to the eats. “Signal fire!”

 

“ _Reapers_ ,” Tristan spits.

 

“I’ll send my fastest rider to warn the Commander,” Anya says. “Send a flame back so they know we see it.”

 

“No, there’s no time.” Tristan turns towards Clarke. “Kill the prisoner.”

 

A heavily masked figure stalks forward from the shadows.

 

“Is the boy dead?” Anya asks him. He nods. “Good. Kill the girl, then catch up.”

 

 _Wells_.

 

Clarke slumps forward, her head in her hands. She misses the look of contempt that Anya shoots her way before escaping with her riders.

 

 _Wells is dead and it’s my fault_.

 

The man grabs her by her chains and yanks her to her feet. Clarke tries to struggle, to run, but her fight has left her. The man gives a sharp tug on the chains and Clarke falls, her head slamming on the ground and her vision going black for the second time that night.

 

She comes to on a horse. The masked man is actually Lincoln, who she learns had killed one of his own to save her. He lit the signal fire which acted as a distraction for Anya’s warriors.

 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” Wells says, stepping out from behind the fire. Clarke throws herself into his arms, and he catches her with a laugh.

 

The distraction doesn’t work for too long. Lincoln leads them into a tunnel, and in there they meet the Reapers for the first time. They are savage, hulking beasts and they watch them consume the flesh of other people- _living_ people. Lincoln distracts them as Clarke and Wells make a break for it. When they’re just outside the range of camp, they hear an explosion.

 

They race back to find that while they were gone, Jasper had caught Murphy killing people in the dropship. Bellamy had traded Jasper’s life for his, and Murphy had him strung up just as they had done to him weeks ago. Raven had managed to break into the dropship’s wiring and open the hatch, saving Bellamy’s life. But Murphy had escaped, blowing up the upper level of the dropship and using up all of their gunpowder in his grand exit.

 

“We need to leave _right now_ ,” Wells urges Bellamy when they regroup. “There is an army of Grounders like you wouldn’t believe headed right for us.”

 

“Like hell we do. We knew this was coming.” Bellamy says.

 

“Bellamy, it’s not safe,” Octavia argues.

 

“Like hell it’s not.” Bellamy gestures to the crowd gathering around them. “We have until nightfall to prepare.”

 

“Lincoln told us that there is a clan near the ocean who would take us in,” Wells says. “If we pack our things now, we might be able to leave before the Grounders get here.”

 

“This is our home!” Bellamy exclaims. “We built this place with our bare hands. Our dead are buried here. They can’t take this away from us.”

 

The crowd cheers, fueling his fire.

 

“I say, let them come. We might have come form the sky, but we’re on the ground now, and that means that _we are Grounders_.”

 

The crowd cheers again, and Clarke steps forward.

 

“He’s right,” she says. “We might never find a place safer than this one. But if we stay here, we _will_ die tonight. We have to leave. Now.”

 

There is a beat of silence before everyone starts to move, grabbing their things. Bellamy deflates a little beside her, and Clarke turns to speak to him, but Raven comes stumbling through the gate with a strangled cry.

 

“That motherfucker shot me!” she cries, clutching her side. Wells sprints over and scoops her up in his arms. “I’m going to kill him.”

 

“Get her inside, quickly,” Clarke tells Wells. “Get something to stop the bleeding.”

 

Bellamy grabs her wrist, pulling her to face him. “Leaving is a mistake,” he says lowly.

 

“They all agree with me, Bellamy.”

 

“Crowds make mistakes, just ask Murphy.” He gives her a sharp look. “Leaders do what they think is right.”

 

Clarke slips her wrist out of his hand and gives it a squeeze. “I am.”

* * *

Wells holds Raven’s hand as Clarke cauterizes her wound. Raven suddenly remembers the hydrazine tanks beneath the dropship, and the possibility of firing up the rocket launchers, but Clarke turns her down.

 

“Raven, the bullet is still inside you. You can’t even walk. We need to find a way to get you out of here safely.”

 

“I can make a stretcher,” Wells offers. Raven looks to him in surprise.

 

“Or she could stay behind with me,” Bellamy says.

 

Clarke drops the knife she used to cauterize the wound and pulls him to the side.

 

“We can’t do this without you, Bellamy,” she pleads. He scrubs a hand across his face.

 

“What do you want me to say, Clarke?”

 

“I want you to say that you’re with us.” She grabs both of his hands in hers. “I want you to say that you’re with me.”

 

“You don’t need me. The kids listen to you more.”

 

“I gave them an easy choice,” Clarke scoffs. “But a few minutes ago, they were ready to fight and die for you. You inspire them, Bellamy, and we’re going to need more of that before today is over.”

 

Bellamy gulps, looking down at their hands. “Alright,” he says softly. “Let’s move out.”

 

The kids pack their things quickly, and soon Bellamy and Clarke are the only ones left behind the gates. The fire pit still has a steady flame burning.

 

“You did good here, Bellamy,” Clarke says to him as they watch their people file out.

 

“18 dead,” he mutters.

 

“82 alive.” Clarke turns to him, looking him in the eyes. “You did good.”

 

Bellamy gives her a small, crooked smile. “ _We_ did good.”

 

She suddenly realizes that this might be her last chance to kiss him before one or both of them are dead. Before she can stop herself, she reaches forward and grabs the collar of his jacket, pulling him down so that their lips can meet. The kiss is explosive, sloppy, and full of passion. Their teeth clack against each other and her hands sneak up to pull at his hair. She moans into his mouth when his hands grip low on her waist and pull her flush against his body. But a harsh press of lips suddenly turns tender, and Bellamy’s hands slide up her body to cup her face.

 

“We’re going to talk about this,” he murmurs against her lips. “After this is over.”

 

“After this is over,” she agrees, and the unspoken promise that they will both survive hands in the air.

 

He dumps a bucket of water over the fire, and plumes of smoke rise into the sky behind them as they walk out of camp, hand in hand.

* * *

They are in the woods for barely half an hour before one kid gets a blade to the eye and they’re all sprinting back to camp. Wells tries to get them to go back out, saying that Lincoln warned them that scouts would be coming and that they have the ammunition to take them.

 

“Looking to you, Princess,” Bellamy says, climbing down from the wall. “Do we run and get picked off, or do we stay and give ‘em hell?”

 

Clarke looks pointedly at Wells. “Lincoln said scouts. Plural. They’re already here.” She turns to Bellamy. “Looks like you’ve got your big fight.”

 

Bellamy licks his lips, fighting back a smirk. “Alright, then! Everyone to your posts!”

 

Raven is lucid enough to talk Clarke through finding the ignition systems, but the bullet in her spine causes internal bleeding and she loses feeling in her legs halfway through. Wells proposes that he leave to get the coagulant from Lincoln’s cave in order to try to slow the bleeding.

 

“Are you kidding me? No way, you’ll get yourself killed,” Raven protests.

 

“Think of it like this, you dumb genius,” Wells snaps, and Raven gapes. “You’re the only one who knows how to fire these rockets. If you die, we all die. Not to mention the fact that you’ve saved all of our asses more times than I can count, and it would be nice if we could return the favor for once.”

 

Raven stares up at him in shocked silence. He takes that as his cue and stands up.

 

Clarke catches Wells arm as he goes to leave. “Be safe. I can’t lose you again,” she says softly.

 

He pats her cheek and grins. “You won’t.”

 

Raven continues to talk Clarke through finding the right wire, but it’s frayed and the only way that they could even try to continue would be to splice it, which Clarke can’t do.

 

“Guess we finally found something you’re not good at,” Raven mutters.

 

“Shitty time to find out,” Clarke mumbles to herself.

 

“I used to be picked first for everything, you know?” Raven sighs. “Earth Skills, Zero-G mech course- first. Every time. So how the hell did I end up here?”

 

“Hey, Raven?” Clarke calls. “I’d pick you first.”

 

There is silence for a beat before Raven answers, and Clarke can hear the smile in her voice. “Of course you would. I’m awesome.”

* * *

They watch the Ark fall from the sky as the Reapers descend upon the Grounders. Wells sprints through the tunnel, coagulant in hand. Clarke administers it to Raven, praying to any and every God out there that it works.

 

Jasper pokes his head up from beneath the floorboards, where they enlisted him to help after Raven passed out. “I did it!” He waves a small control panel in his hands. “We’re ready to launch.”

 

“Stay with her,” Clarke tells Wells, nodding to Raven. “I need to get everyone back inside.”

 

She runs out to the base of the dropship, yelling to anyone who will listen. The Grounders start to infiltrate the walls, and they seem to be unstoppable. Their only chance at survival is to get as many people inside the dropship and blast the rockets, but despite Clarke’s protests, they’re overwhelmed by the Grounders and some people can’t stop fighting.

 

Miller grabs Clarke by the arm. “There’s too many of them. You have to close the doors.”

 

“Not when Bellamy is still out there,” she says, shoving him behind her towards the doors. She spies him a few yards to her left. “Bellamy!”

 

He’s firing rapidly at an approaching Grounder, but his gun stalls and the man slams his fist into the side of his head.

 

“ _Bellamy_!”

 

He doesn’t hear her, doesn’t look back. Clarke starts to sob as the Grounder pummels him, and through the tears in her eyes she barely registers someone sprinting out of the dropship until Wells is tackling the Grounder to the ground.

 

“ _No_!” Clarke cries. Miller reappears, wrapping his arms around her waist and starting to drag her backwards.

 

“You need to go, Clarke, come on.”

 

“Bellamy! Wells!”

 

Wells looks up for a split second and flashes Clarke a smile. He nods briefly before turning back to the Grounder and throwing a punch. His look tells her that he knows what she must do, and it’s okay.

 

Feeling sick to her stomach, Clarke allows Miller to lead her back inside.

 

 _Bellamy and Wells are still out there. Bellamy and Wells are still out there. Bellamy and Wells are going to_ die _out there._

 

Wells, her best friend. The only family she has left. She spent so long hating him, and not enough time loving him for the amazing, kind, genuine person he is.

 

Bellamy, her co-leader. Her friend. Her…something. She thinks of the night in his tent on Unity Day, and the kiss they shared earlier that morning. She desperately wishes that that kiss will not be their last.

 

The last camper follows her inside the dropship, and Clarke gets a good look at all of their faces. They are bloody, tired, and desperate, and they are looking to her.

 

Taking a deep breath, she pulls the lever that shuts the doors.

 

Anya jumps inside at the last second, and Clarke can barely control the horde of people when they descend upon her, kicking and screaming. By the time she gets everyone off of her, Anya is unconscious, but still breathing.

 

“Give us one reason why we shouldn’t kill her,” Miller snarls.

 

“Because…” she founders, “because she is doing what she thinks is right to protect her people.” Clarke looks to Jasper, holding the control panel in his hand. “And so am I.”

 

She nods, and Jasper presses the button. The entire ship rocks with the force of the blast, and tears roll silently down Clarke’s cheeks as they incinerate everything and everyone around them.

* * *

Clarke leads her people out of the dropship, and they walk in silence over the piles over charred corpses. There are two skeletons in the space where she last saw Bellamy and Wells, and Clarke chokes back a sob.

 

“Hey, what is that?” someone yells. Clarke looks up to see tubes being thrown over the walls, red smoke billowing out from the opening.

 

“Mountain men,” Anya growls.

 

It’s the last thing Clarke hears before she passes out.

 

The last thing she sees are masked figures swarming through the gates, rifles at the ready.

 

The last thing she thinks about is Bellamy, and how he smiled at her on Unity Day, and how she would give anything to see that smile again.

* * *

When she wakes up, the first thing she hears is the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor.

 

The first thing she sees is the nearly blinding light above her, illuminating the stark, sterile room.

 

The first thing she thinks, upon seeing the Mount Weather Quarantine Ward above Monty’s head, is that they are all going to die here.

**Author's Note:**

> come freak out over season 3 with me on tumblr, if you feel so inclined!  
> (bilexualclarke)


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